I came in line with the rear trench on my way back.
"Who's there?" came a voice from the line of little cigarette lights.
"A London Irish orderly—going home!" I answered, and a laugh rewarded my ironical humour.
"Jolly luck to be able to return home," I said to myself when I got past. "3008, you weren't very brave to-night. By Jove, you did hop into that roofless house and scamper out of that spinney! In fact, you did not shine as a soldier at all. You've not been particularly afraid of shell fire before, but to-night! Was it because you were alone you felt so very frightened? You've found out you've been posing a little before. Alone you're really a coward."
I felt a strange delight in saying these things; the firing had ceased; it was still raining heavily.
"Remember the bridge at Suicide Corner," I said, alluding to a recent incident when I had walked upright across a bridge, exposed to the enemy's rifle fire. My mates hurried across almost bent double whilst I sauntered slowly over in front of them. "You had somebody to look at you then; 'twas vanity that did it, but to-night! You were afraid, terribly funky. If there had been somebody to look on, you'd have been defiantly careless. It's rather nerve-racking to be shelled when you're out alone at midnight and nobody looking at you!"
Dawn was breaking when I found myself at the Keep. The place in some manner fascinated me and I wanted to know what had happened there. I found that a few shells were still coming that way and most of the party were in their dug-outs. I peered down the one which was under my old sleeping place; at present all stayed in their dug-outs when off duty. They were ordered to do so, but none of the party were sleeping now, the night had been too exciting.
"'Oo's there?" Bill called up out of the darkness, and when I spoke he muttered:
"Oh, it's ole Pat! Where were yer?"
"I've been out for a walk," I replied.